Blood Destiny
by Delicious Mud Pie
Summary: READ DESCENT INTO RANCOR FIRST BEFORE THIS! Chapter 3 up--angst, angst, drama drama--more action next chapter
1. First Blood

Blood Destiny

**A/N: **btw--Carrick Donovan means "a rock from the dark valley." Cool, ne?

**Blood Destiny**  
  
_  
__Frozen palms rubbed together furiously for warmth throughout the damp alleyways, and Brock's breath almost made his hands colder as hypothermia began to relax into his damp, ice-frosted skin. The people next to him could have kept him warm, they all could have kept warm together, but they'd rather die of their own cold than by each others'hands._

_The sky was beginning to turn orange as the radiation drew closer. Brock closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, a strange thought of morbid comfort crossing his mind. At least it wouldn¹t be the cold that killed him.  
Something tapped his shoulder, and he reeled immediately. His flesh had practically been ripped off by a starving person before, so he was a little jumpy. But upon looking down, he met with a pair of lonely blue eyes that just seemed so familiar.   
"You¹re not scared of me?"he whispered. "Everyone is scared of each other."  
"We're dead, anyway," she shrugged.  
"I know you" he gulped. "Where from?"  
"You don¹t remember?" she blinked slowly and sadly.  
Brock didn¹t recognize the thin, half dead little girl as she clung to his arm. She could possibly have been older than she appeared since she was obviously emaciated. Brock was emaciated as well, but at least he couldn¹t see himself.  
"I guess I look more different than I thought," she chuckled, then tugged on Brock's collar, bringing him closer to her. His face flushed as the breath of another human lightly touched it, and he had an inclination to try and escape, but he repressed it.  
"I guess Armageddon did this to me," she nearly laughed, and brought herself closer to Brock. "But let's not forget what brought us here--our destiny is written in blood. We're going to die, and you don't even recall the name of the one you love."  
Brock's eyes widened, and he was about to speak her name, but he wasn't able to as they embraced and kissed.  
Death drowned them as they stood like that, the sun a secondary light against the flower which bloomed across the sky to swallow the souls of all below. . .  
_  
"God," Brock mumbled, kicking his blankets off once again. "That dream, I keep having that dream—"  
  


--------------------------------------------------------------------

Brock kept his fist to his mouth the entire time. Windwhipped around his jacket and hair, making the situation even more uncomfortable than it already was. Misty closed her eyes and pulled some stray hairs from her face and from her mouth, having an even harder time keeping her cool than Brock.

_Good thing I left Togepi at the gym_, Misty thought to herself as she could hardly stand straight in the gale forces which surrounded.

Misty, in one free moment, looked over to Brock. His face didn't express any emotion as he stared at the building. Misty sidestepped over to him and looped her arm in his, letting him know that she would help him get through this.

"It's so empty," Brock blurted in a whisper, turning to Misty with the same vacant look upon his face. Misty could hardly believe he kept such a straight visage after whispering something that sounded like total desolation.

Brock's mouth dried out as he stood, and he shoved the hand not monopolized by Misty into his jacket pocket, balled into a fist.

"It's like going to the dentist," Misty sighed and patted his arm, "you gotta do it, but it'll be over. And unlike the dentist, you'll never have to do it again."

Brock nodded as if he had taken Misty's advice to heart, but the vacant look remained.

"Hello!" a friendly voice stabbed the rigid air, and its source briskly meandered over to Brock and Misty. "I take it you're the proprietors?"

Brock nodded. "I am. I'm Carrick Donovan, the Shale family's only remaining cousin, and only relative old enough to negotiate what happens to the building."

Not only was he Carrick Donovan, his hair was dyed black and he sported a faux black goatee. Misty didn't like the look, but there was nothing else to keep the league representative from recognizing him.

"I'm sorry about what happened," the woman looked to her feet, though her statement was little more than unconvincing. "I'm Janice Bandri, but feel free to call me Jan."

"I'd just like to get this over with, Ms. Bandri," Brock kept his pocketed fist clenched as he spoke with the woman. "This place brings back memories I'm not ready to deal with."

"Understood," Bandri replied, as if insulted by Brock's unfriendliness. "For starters, who is next in line to run the gym?"

"No one," Brock stated firmly, "sell the damn hellhole."

"Now," Misty stepped in front of Brock to interject, should he begin to scare the woman, "B--Carrick doesn't mean that, he's just upset. Although it probably would be best if the estate was left in the league's hands--we don't have the means nor will to deal with it."

"Understood," Bandri said once again. It must have been her favorite word. "Are you sure you wouldn't want to start the place up again? Gyms are a great moneymaker, and--"

"I've never been more sure of anything in my LIFE," Brock interrupted, a vein nearly popping within his temple, "you can burn it to the goddamn ground for all I care."

"Upset," Misty groaned, "he's not usually like this."

"Well," Bandri shrugged, "I guess the league will handle it from here. Thanks for coming by."

Sans goodbyes, Brock and Misty turned and began walking back to their car. 

"Oh yeah," Bandri called to them as they left, "you'd better watch your back, Shale, they're after you now."

Brock turned around to face Bandri, as quickly as humanly possible, but she had disappeared.

"What the--" Misty was frozen in her tracks, and she grabbed Brock's arm as he turned back around.

"It's called hell just got hotter," Brock sighed, then shook his head as he and Misty continued their stroll to the car.

"How'd it go?" Gary asked as Brock piled into the back seat.

"Lovely, thank you," Brock replied facetiously.

"I'm sorry Shale," Gary apologized, "I know that was hard on you."

"You don't know the fucking half of it," Brock grumbled as Gary started the engine. "By the way, 'they' are after me."

"They?" Gary raised an eyebrow. "What? That woman--"

"Disappeared," Brock interrupted. "After telling me that 'they're' after me now."

"A lovely end to a lovely day," Ash pouted in the shotgun passenger seat.

"Don't make me hurt you, Ketchum," Gary snarled.

"Pikapi," Pikachu gave Ash a chastising look, as if it disapproved of his facetiousness as well.

Brock coughed quietly and turned to look out the window. Thickening gray clouds infested the skies, threatening to drizzle at any moment. There was a likelihood the howling wind would just blow it all away, but it was more likely that it would just pile it up until it slammed down upon them.

"Don't think about it Brock," Misty advised. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Besides," she put a hand on his shoulder, "what could they possibly want with you?"

"Wasn't I responsible for one of their deaths?" Brock stared at Misty with his eyebrows furrowed, as if having stated the obvious.

"It was really me if you want to be technical," Misty shrugged. "My bosses killed one too. You didn't kill them. And if you had, it would have been in self defense."

"Hm," Brock replied lackadaisically, and Misty wondered if anything she said was penetrating his thick skull at all.

Thunder crashed, though the sound of the quickly building wind nearly covered the sound up completely. 

The car--a fairly old two-door five-seater coupe--was extremely uncomfortable to the highly-restless Brock. He just wanted to get out, stretch his legs, and tell his sister that the place was going to be out of sight and out of mind soon enough.

Brock looked over to Misty and decided to take up her silent offer of comfort. He leaned his head onto her shoulder, and she clasped his hand in reassurance as they drove.

The car began to swerve and Gary's control of it began to wane. Brock jerked up from his comfortable spot on Misty's shoulder quickly, afraid that they'd have to deal with the Mistakes all too soon.

"Gary," Brock leaned over in the seat and put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "what's happening?"

"Sweet mother of fuck," was all he could say, and suddenly slammed on the brakes in some random spot in Cerulean City.

"What?" Brock became even more panicked. "Why did you stop here? Should we bail out of the car? What?"

"Look in front of you," Gary seemed spastic, "you blind man?"

"All I see is an empty field," Brock raised an eyebrow. "Maybe you're hallucinating--let me drive--"

"That's what I see too," Gary screamed, "but what we SHOULD be seeing is the Cerulean City gym!"

"Wha?" Misty jumped, and everyone in the car piled themselves onto windows, making for an unhappy crowd.

"It's gone!" Gary's eyes fell. "Gone!"

"Katie!" Brock shouted, then opened the door and found himself unable to get out. "Fucking seatbelt," he shouted as he practically ripped it out of the buckle in his panic. "Katie!" He shouted again, once he was able to escape the car and run into the middle of the field.

"Shale!" Gary shouted, and followed Brock into the field. "You don't know if it's a trap!"

"Let them come!" Brock shouted, and then fell to his knees. "Let them. I'll kill them."

"Brock," Misty whispered as she ran out to him. "Brock!"

Brock stayed fallen on his knees, shaking as he did so. 

"Not Katie too," he shouted, "not her too!"

Misty breathed in deeply and then put her arms around his shoulders. "Maybe they got out before whatever happened here happened, Brock. Don't give up hope yet!"

"I gave it up a long time ago," Brock replied shakily, then stood to his feet and ripped the faux facial hair from his face, and pulled off his jacket even though a biting rain had begun to pelt them.

"Brock, what are you doing?" Misty asked as he threw his jacket to the road and began to run. She chased after him, of course, and she was quite the runner.

"I hope he doesn't do anything stupid," Ash looked away from Gary, toward the ground.

"I should go after him," Gary whispered raspily, taking a step toward the direction in which Brock ran off.

"It's too late now," Ash replied. "Misty will get him."

"She will," Gary agreed, sadly. "Besides, being and Espiritu probably did a lot for her running abi--"

"Excuse me!" microphones were shoved into both Ash and Gary's faces. "Were you here when the gym disappeared? Why did it disappear? Did--"

News vans surrounded the place like ants, and Ash and Gary began to feel a little on the closterphobic side.

"This must have happened seconds before we got here," Gary whispered to Ash. "I mean, if we beat the freakin' media!"

"True," Ash whispered back. "But I think we should be more worried about _her._"

"I'm sorry," Officer Jenny sighed as she walked up to Gary and Ash, "whether you did this or not, I'll have to take you down for questioning."

"Uh," Gary donned his cocky edifice once again, "I don't think so, you see, we got here _after_ this happened."

"Really," Jenny smiled slyly, as if she was not impressed with Gary's alibi. "Well, several neighbors have informed the police that four people got out of that car at the time the place disappeared."

"Really," Gary replied, wearing a similar grin to the one Jenny had, "and here _I _thought my eyes weren't deceiving me when it was gone when I fucking got here!"

Jenny placed her hands on her hips and licked her lips as she looked to the ground, thinking of a way to respond. "Don't make this harder on yourself, you don't want to be charged with resisting the law when probably nothing will happen to you otherwise--"

"Look, _Jenny_," Gary became snappy, "how much do I gotta bribe you to go the hell away? We have bigger problems now! My friend's SISTER was in there, goddamit, so just fuck off, okay?"

"Gary," Ash shouted in a whisper while tugging on his shoulder, "calm down, okay? Um, sorry Jenny, he has tourettes syndrome really badly, and he's also brain damaged, he really can't--"

"Like I'm gonna buy that!" Jenny shouted. "You are under arrest for verbal assault, please get on the ground--"

Gary began laughing maniacally. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Dude," Ash tugged on Gary's sleeve, "what the hell is coming over you? Now all those other cops are coming over here--"

"They can suck my dick," Gary kept laughing, then pointed into the sky, "even though I'm not sure I'll have one soon enough! Look, it's our little friends!"

Both Ash and Jenny looked in the direction Gary was pointing, and their eyes widened in unison. A figure which looked as if it could have been a charcoal black mewtwo was coming closer to them. Unlike mewtwo, however, it was quite slender, and just like all mistakes, had a great deal of red-colored lightning surrounding its body.

"Piiiiiika," Pikachu warned, and stood on all fours, electricity crackling along its cheeks. It didn't look particularly formidable, however, as its fur was soaked and it looked like a pitiful wet rat. But it was going to fight no matter what.

"Arrest us, bacon patrol," Gary taunted, "then have fun when you're hunted down by--"

The Mistake flew over them, however, without a second look.

"They're after B--Corrick, Gary," Ash rationalized.

"Then we're after it," Gary assured. "C'mon loser, make yourself useful."

Ash nodded, then turned to the police officers.

"I'm very, very sorry," he winced, "but our friends are in danger. You'll understand someday. Pikachu, use thunderbolt now!"

Pikachu was stunned as it was asked to attack a group of police officers and wannabe paparazzi, but did as told. "Chuuuu!" it shouted, letting loose a nasty amount of electricity onto the already wet group.

"Let's go while they're still sizzling!" Ash began to run.

"Shit," Gary blinked and took off after Ash, "I didn't know you were gonna do _that_! We're gonna have to change identities like Brock after that one! But I am proud of ya. Maybe I'll call you turbo instead of loser for a little while."

"Gee thanks," Ash shouted into the wind, "I guess I've been upgraded from loser to turbo! What next, wiener?"

"Good one, turbo!" Gary grinned, though they were still running like bats out of hell at the same time they conversed.

"I can still see it," Ash announced, than took off a little faster. Gary wondered how Pikachu had such an easy time of keeping up, but wondered no more after it decided it had enough and jumped onto his shoulder.

"HELL-o," Gary blinked, "hitchin' a ride, eh?"

"Pi," Pikachu replied, exasperated.

"God," Brock rubbed his forehead on Misty's shoulder. "When is my life ever going to be close to normal?"

Misty put a hand on the back of Brock's head and swallowed hard.

"Not right now, it isn't," she shook, her voice carrying a tone of resignation.

"Misty?" Brock lifted his head and looked at her quizzically.

"Gaah!" Brock shouted as pain suddenly welled in his back, and he flipped around to see what had stung him so.

"All right," he smiled, extremely dismissively, "just who I wanted to see today."

Brock screamed once again as the Mistake's reddish lightning left its body to scathe his. Why couldn't he fight it this time, like he had that time in the desert?

"Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiikaaaaaa!" a tiny voice shouted into the clammy air, and the Mistake's attention was temporarily diverted from Brock. It used its psychic power to lift Pikachu into the air, and it began to rip the creature to shreds with its red-lightning.

"Ugh," Misty shook her head then stumbled to her feet, "you wanna battle? I'll give you a battle!"

Misty held three tiny pokeballs between her fingers, and then threw them all at once.

"Go!" she shouted. "Golduck use surf, Starmie thunderbolt, Poliwrath--fissure! Now!"

Her pokemon obeyed her commands, and soon enough the Mistake dropped Pikachu, and Ash dove to catch it.

"Pikachu?" Ash's heart pounded as he held the little creature.

"Pikapi," it replied.

"You're alive," Ash smiled.

"But he won't be for long," Gary cringed, watching as six more Mistakes of dissimilar proportion arrived on the scene. "Nice knowing you, turbo."

"Don't give up just yet," Ash clenched his teeth, "we could set all our pokemon on them."

"Or we could run like hell," Gary countered. "Good plan, glad you thought of it."

"We'll never be able to get them all," Misty gulped. "But we'll sure as hell try."

"Wait!" Gary grabbed a pokeball from his belt. "Dark type time."

"These aren't exactly normal psychic types," Ash pondered as Umbreon was released, "but hell! I hope it works!"

The other pokemon were released as well, and were beginning to be torn up in the ensuing battle.

"Guys!" Brock shouted to his pokemon, "all of you, concentrate on one!"

His pokemon were unsure as to which they would focus on, but picked one that was only being attacked by Gary's umbreon. 

Leaving one open.

"Brock!" Misty shouted frantically, "what in hell are you doing?"

Brock didn't listen to Misty, and he leapt up onto the open Mistake, ignoring the pain which resulted in the stabbing lightning slicing through his skin.

"Not again!" Gary shouted, and then ran to Brock himself. "Shale, not again!"

Ash stood back a moment, reeling from the events and possibilities. A calm soon came over him, as he was suddenly struck with a premonition.

"We're going to win," he whispered to himself. "We--we're going to win this battle."

Through the beating it was receiving, one Mistake turned and looked at Ash, then turned to the other humans.

"Mmmakriaj," it said, or something to that effect in a robotic tone dismantled to the wind's liking.

The Mistake being attacked by Brock suddenly stopped its struggle, and the lightning which surrounded it dissipated. Brock was about to snap its neck when he was suddenly thrown off, and the Mistake developed a bluish aura.

"Wha--" Brock blinked as he remained airborne for a moment, then screamed the primal scream as he dissipated into nothingness.

"Brock!" Misty shouted while jumping and grasping at the spot he was last in. "Oh my Brock!"

"Shale!" Gary shouted, but didn't chase after the emptiness where Brock once was. "Oh god."

The other Mistakes rose into the air as well, and each began to glow a different color.

"Geez," Gary snapped, "I guess you're the fucking aurora borealis now!"

"He's--" Ash's eyes widened. "Run! Run! Run, goddamit!"

But no one ran. Misty dropped to her knees, and Gary stood defiantly.

"How could I run from the killers of my best friend?" Gary shook, balling his hands into fists. "You've been demoted from turbo and loser to FUCK HEAD, Ketchum! Fuck head!"

"No!" Ash tried to reason, "listen to me, I just know we have to run!"

Ash's attempts to convince his friends to move was fruitless, and the Mistake closest to him lost its aura, and it surrounded him instead.

"No!" Ash screamed, but was gone into thin air before another word could be uttered.

A third Mistake dissipated all the pokemon, although Pikachu was quite resigned to follow in whatever had happened to Ash.

"Bastards!" Gary shouted, and began throwing rocks at the figures, "bastards!"

"Yeah!" Misty agreed, and began to throw sand and rocks as well.

Neither of the two's projectiles hit very well between the pounding of the rain and the blasting of the wind, and soon they joined their friends and pokemon--wherever that might have been.

_Brock was surrounded by an endless plane of sand, and his feet sunk into it readily as he tried to walk. He didn't know where he was walking too, but he knew he was lucky that the sky above was overcast and his feet weren't burning off. But how long would that last?_

_He began stepping more gingerly, but still couldn't walk at a reasonable pace._

_"Maybe if I just rolled," he told himself, and then he laid down at the top of a sand dune, his hands folded across his chest. He closed his eyes and began rolling down it, then was moving too quickly to prevent himself from falling into a sandy pit below._

_ _

__"Ack!" he shouted, sitting up suddenly, finding himself in a world of darkness. "Hello? Where am I?"

He put his hands down onto the surface he lye on. It was a bed.

He put a hand to his head and felt a bandage tightly wrapped around his forehead.

"Where am I?" he blinked and asked himself, not panicking quite as much.

Someone flipped the light switch on, and Brock closed his eyes tightly before adjusting to the light.

"Hello?" he put a hand over his eyes and peered out from beneath it. It didn't shield them from the light much, but he needed to see who had walked in.

"Brock," a voice sliced through the stagnant air, a cold voice--a vaguely familiar voice. The owner of the voice was incredibly familiar, a beautiful woman probably five or six years older than Brock, with the same skin tone as he. Was she a long lost relative?

"Y-yeah?" he replied, not wanting to insult her by asking who she was. He felt that he should know.

"After twenty-three years all you have to say is _yeah_?" the woman asked crossly. "I can't believe you."

"Hold up here," Brock put a hand to his head, "I'm only nineteen years old, sweetheart, ya gotta be mistaken."

"You have to be kidding me," she laughed.

Brock felt insulted. Sure, he was injured, but did that make him look old?

"I shit you not," Brock grumbled. "Now that I'm insulted by you, you might as well do me the honor of telling me who you are."

The woman was obviously in shock. She waltzed over to Brock's bed and slapped him clean across the face.

"Son of a bitch," she spat.

"Wow," Brock tenderly touched his cheek, "I've been conscious for three seconds, and I'm already getting slapped by girls."

"You can fucking have him!" Brock heard the woman shout from the hallway.

"Stop," Misty's voice ordered the woman, "it's not his fault; will you listen to reason?"

"I'm not going to be told what to do by some," the woman began to cry, "some little GIRL!"

Brock then heard footsteps storming off down the hall, and some meeker ones entering the room.

"Glad to see you better, Brock," Misty coughed as she stepped delicately over to his bed. "Ya really are crazy for attacking that mistake like that."

"Well you know me," Brock sighed. "Crazy is my middle name. But who was that crazy chick who slapped me for no reason?"

Misty walked over to Brock and grabbed his hand, but didn't answer.

"Who, Misty?" Brock blinked. "Do you know?"

"Yeah," Misty nodded slowly. "I know."

"Then who IS she?" Brock demanded.

"Your sister," Misty replied softly. "Katie."

**A/N: **Okay, so this sucked so far, but the next parts are gonna kick ass, I just had to get into the whole theme of what's gonna happen. Just you wait, damnit.


	2. Damnation Like Burning

Author's Notes: if you haven't read Descent into Rancor by now, you shouldn't be reading this!!! READ THAT ONE FIRST! I really don't think this fic is stand-alone in the slightest. I think this chapter is WAY better than the first, but I'm going down that angst road again when I wanted this one to be mostly action/adventure. Oh well. A couple of chapters of angst won't hurt what I have in mind and upcoming. Review please! Talk to me on any instant messenger—it's fun, and I really don't have many people on MSN. Ja!

_Blood Destiny_

Damnation Like Burning

And the fires flood the earth, carrying the scent of brimstone into the already crumbling buildings, but it was welcomed, and the citizens didn't care.

            "Burn in hell!" they shouted, "burn like one who kills her lover burns!"

            Misty choked on the smoke that was rapidly rising from the mediocre fire beneath her feet, but the heat it omitted began to draw a sweat from her naked flesh as it ate and devoured the pile of wood set out for it. Misty tried to be bold, but she couldn't help coughing and tearing. It probably didn't matter; no one could probably see her from the massive amount of smoke that fanned before her.

            You tried to suck blood from the lips of angels, so death awaits the demon.

            It was her death chant, and it rang through her ears as sparks leapt up and stung her flesh. She could hardly pay attention to the pain, however, when the funeral was going on right in front of her stake. She could hardly see it through the smoke, but she could hear it—she could hear the silence since everyone was dead, dead, dead.

            The air was cold and swept the smoke toward malnourished birds to choke and beguile them as well. As the world spun into oblivion, the browning, dying trees fleshed deep green, and the moisture thick gray sky faded into a deep wine red, sparkling and jumping, the clouds a rolling orange, mimicking the fire. The trees were burning soon enough, sparkling red—a crimson tribute to the demon—

            "Brock," Misty whispered into his ear, shaking his shoulder gently. She looked up at Ash who stood behind her, "I think I saw his eyelids move."

            "Brock," Gary shook his other shoulder, quite roughly. "Brock! Get up!"

            "Huh?" Brock licked his lips, feeling a flavor with his tongue that very much resembled a rusted key. 

            "You've been passed out for a while," she bit her lip, "we found you here like this."

            "What the hell were you doing on the roof?" Gary frowned at him, "you wanna break every bone in your damn body?"

            "I was on the roof?" Brock blinked slowly. "I don't remember ever being on the roof," he groaned, and then tried to get up.

            "No no," Misty pushed his shoulder back down, "don't get up."

            Brock's head swam around for a moment, and then was flooded by images of crackling red and orange. He was about to be picked up and carried into the house when he decided to ask a question.

            "Have any of you ever been dead in a dream, and the point of view of your dream was from another person, and—"

            "Shh," Misty put a finger to his lips, "not now."

            "You really don't remember being on the roof?" Gary was loudly disbelieving, "what, did you sleepwalk there?"

            It was the first time that Brock began to notice that it was night time, and that it was cold. He shivered a little and closed his eyes.

            "Why, Brock," Misty looked at him sternly, "we need each other now! Yes the situation is bad, but did you ever stop to think that it would be worse for us if you killed yourself? Huh?"

            "No no," Brock gulped, "I don't want to kill myself--I really, really don't want to, I don't know why or how or--"

            "Let him alone Misty," Gary ordered as they began carrying him, "I'm sure scolding him will make him happier!"

            "I'm stressed too!" Misty shouted, "but you don't see me running around jumping off of roofs, do you!"

            "But I didn't—" Brock began, but went unheard.

            "Doesn't mean you have to be an insensitive bitch," Gary snapped, "it's not like your only remaining family member basically told you to go to fucking hell—"

            "Guys, I don't want to kill myself," Brock tried to interrupt weakly.

            Ash looked down at Brock sympathetically as Misty and Brock shouted at each other. Electricity began to build in Pikachu's angered cheeks as it rested on Ash's shoulder.

            "Look guys," Ash shouted for Brock, "he said he honestly doesn't know how he got there, okay? Let's just get him inside and not argue about it."

            "I don't have to listen to you," Gary grumbled, "what am I supposed to do, just shut up while she bitches out--"

            "Please, please stop," Brock moaned, unable to cover his face with his eyes as he desired. "Stop, stop, stop, stop," he repeated softly over and over, unable to escape the arguing as he was too weak to speak loudly.

            "But you're just making things worse!" Ash yelled back at Gary.

            "Sometimes people need to be put in their place!" Gary spat.

            "You didn't put me in my place!" Misty snapped, "all you ever do is think you're God above all and try and tell everyone else what is what!"

            "Pika!" Pikachu yelled in the harshest voice it could manage, ready to shock everyone.

            "Control your rat Ash!" Gary shouted, "it'll make us all fall!"

            "You guys will!" Ash shouted, "we're not even moving! We're standing here shouting! And it's starting to rain! Now move for crying out loud!"

            "Put me down," Brock begged, and began squirming. "Put me down!"

            "Quit moving Brock we might drop you," Gary ordered.

            Brock closed his eyes tightly and grumbled, jerking sharply to the right and forcing everyone to drop him in the freshly forming mud.

            "Leave me alone," he coughed, trying to get the wind to return to his aching lungs. He began to pull himself with his hands as he didn't think he had the strength to walk.

            "Can't you just stop this?" Misty shouted. "We've had enough trouble!"

            "Shut up," Gary pointed a haughty finger at her, "it's your fault, he's even worse off than he was now!"

            Ash narrowed his eyes and muttered under his breath, then walked over to Brock and lifted his chin.

            "I'm sorry," he sighed. "But trust me, we're not trying that again."

            Brock just nodded dizzily as Ash lifted his upped half and wrapped his arms around his neck, then stood. Brock hung off Ash's back, his feet dragging in the mud all the way to the gym while Gary and Misty still yelled at each other, freezing as the rain crawled into their clothes and soaked their skin.

            "Ash!" a familiar voice shouted as he walked into the door. "You found him! Here, let me help you!"

            Ash nodded gratefully as they turned Brock over, Ash carrying his front half, May carrying him by the ankles.

            Ash stared blankly at Brock's shirt, avoiding May's eyes. He still felt scalded by their first encounter. He knew that she didn't mean to hurt him—and that in this state, it certainly wasn't meant to be—but it was hard to keep a level head. Very hard.

            The gym seemed to be like a war bunker more than anything, and Ash's hands left a small smudge on the glass of the window as he ran his fingers down it, incredibly unimpressed with what his world had become. The buildings stood, but their hearts were torn out. The once busy swarm of streets was now  a vacuum frozen in time. Dusty gray earth dilating throughout the empty space by what was obviously sadness induced wind kept everyone inside, it seemed.

            Somehow while he was staring he missed a figure sneak up to the front door, and thus was startled and nearly fell off his perch kneeling backwards on the sofa when it opened.

            The person who opened it was equally startled—dressed in a body suit of black and carrying a disgustingly large machete behind her back, she jumped about three feet into the air upon noticing Ash's presence.

            Ash held up his hands in surrender quickly, "I'm not an intruder," he explained quickly, "ask Tracey before doing anything hasty--"

            The unknown Espiritu, however, simply pulled down her mask and blinked at Ash, her mouth slightly open, not quite knowing what to make of him.

            "You," she sputtered, her eyes frosting over with tears of disbelief, "you're home?"

            "Yeah," Ash looked at the woman's face searchingly, trying to figure out who she was. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

            "I was just on a long mission," the woman gulped, her feet edging over towards Ash slowly, her hands trembling at her sides to match her lips as the tears in her eyes grew heavier. "I just got back."

            Ash decided to stand. The woman was gorgeous—her hair was about the length of her chin and dusty blonde, and she sported vacant blue eyes which forged a pain into his heart. She had a faint, faint scar on her forehead in a circular shape, and Ash knew who she was.

            Without any words, Ash ran up to his beloved May and took her into his arms. He cried into her hair as he realized that even though he was taller than her, she was twenty-three years older. She did look incredibly good for her age.

            "I thought you died, Ash," May cried into his shoulder as well, "you and Gary, I thought you both died."

            "We might as well have," Ash hugged her even more tightly, "we were gone for so long—"

            May pulled back from him, and he wiped her streaming tears with his thumb, putting his hand behind her neck delicately as he did so. His heart pounded as he watched her lips slightly parted in disbelief, and her eyes narrowed slightly as they became flooded with emotion.

            "Where were you?" she gulped. "You haven't aged a day!"

            "The Mistakes sent us into the future," Ash explained, massaging her neck lightly as he did so. "Yesterday we were in Pewter, giving the gym to the league. Today we're back in Pewter—but obviously the league isn't in control of the gym."

            "We use this one because the Cerulean Gym is gone," May explained, her breathing slowing as she did so.

            Ash gulped loudly, drawing his face closer to the woman in front of him. "I hope no one was still in it," he looked away from her momentarily, but had to bring his eyes back. "Most of Espiritu headquarters was underground, right?"

            May nodded. "But we had to escape—the Mistakes destroyed it after you disappeared. I don't know how they knew where it was—but we don't have much equipment anymore. Only the small group of people opposing the Mistakes. That's all we are, really."

            "I'm so glad you're well now," Ash smiled weakly at her, "even doing missions. It's great."

            "I know," May smiled back, but stiffened a little as Ash put his hand onto her waist. 

            Butterfrees gurgled in Ash's stomach as they stood in silence for a second, and he tilted her chin up with the hand he was previously massaging it with, then pressed his lips onto hers, attempting to part her lips with his own. She dove into the kiss as well, and Ash ran his hands up and down her back gently, his tongue flickering delicately into her mouth.

            "Wait, Ash," May pushed him away, breathing as if still caught up in the moment.

            "No, you wait May," Ash embraced her tightly, "I know we have a huge age difference now, but I still want to be with you, I still—"

            "It's not that, Ash," May began crying once again, then lifted her hand in front of Ash's face, exposing a thin golden band with a diamond solitaire on top of it, "I'm married—when you left, I fell in love."

            Ash became stunned, and withdrew from his impassioned embrace quickly. "I'm sorry, I'm s-s-orry-- I had no idea!"

            "It's all right," May tried to hug him again, but Ash pulled away stiffly, "I can't blame you for feeling like that—twenty years ago I did too."

            Ash put a hand on his forehead, and May patted his back gently. "I never thought I would see you again," she explained quietly. "I—I was so depressed after you two disappeared, I couldn't get myself to do anything—but when the Mistakes found our base of operations and smoked us out—well, I was saved by the man I now love, and I was taught to live again. Ash, I'm sorry, if I knew you lived still I—"

            But Ash put a shaking finger to May's lips, and embraced her in a friendly manner, closing his eyes slowly as he gently pressed his fingers into the small of her back. May stood agape when they finally pulled away, and Ash's eyes glossed over as he began a shaky speech.

            "I'm glad, May," he managed to say, his throat becoming too dry to bear, "you're looking great, and no one could blame you for not waiting twenty-three years for someone dead. I—it would be nice to meet him—it's—"

            May smiled weakly as she blushed and turned away. "I think you've already met him," she put a curled hand to her lips, her eyes shimmering with what seemed to be pride, and Ash blinked in incomprehension.

            "I don't think you guys knew," she breathed in lightly, "but Tracey was an Espiritu, that's why he was there—there to save me."

            Ash almost took a step back, but managed not to. He was elated, glad that she married someone he knew was nice—but felt blood rush to his cheeks as he pictured Tracey in his mind. 

            I have to be happy for her, and him, he told him self. I have to.

            Ash was told before that Tracey was an Espiritu, but he had forgotten just as quickly until seeing him again, in the future. It seemed that ever since then Tracey was in charge of everything they did—made leader of every mission. At first Ash was stoked to be working closely with an old friend—even if the old was now literal—but recently all he'd seen in that gathering room were images of Tracey going down the isle with Gary Oak's gorgeous sister.

            He and May carried Brock all the way to his room, but couldn't lay him on the bed because of his mud and rain soaked clothing. 

            "You'd better get him into fresh clothes," May nodded to Ash.

            Ash nodded, smirking a little as he thought that the job would better suit either Misty or Gary. Blood flushed to Ash's face again as he recalled that conversation with Tracey. Ash became seethingly jealous over something as inconsequential to him as observation skills—he really needed to get a grip. But at least he understood that Misty and Gary's constant bickering wasn't because that's just how they were, like he thought before.

            May left the room with a quiet click of the door, and Ash's attentions diverted to Brock.

            "I really didn't get on that roof," Brock said once again, his face convoluting in nervousness.

            Ash put a hand to Brock's head, then removed it, not feeling a fever. He walked over and grabbed some pajamas from a drawer before continuing the conversation.

            "I believe you," Ash tried to calm him. "You could have been sleepwalking," Ash continued as he unbuttoned Brock's mud-crusted pants with shaky hands, desiring to turn away yet also desiring not to be so immature, "were you asleep, then ended up on the ground?"

            Brock gulped, shivering a little as his legs became exposed to the air, "I—I want to say yes—can you tell Misty and Gary that that's what happened? Please?"

            Ash's eyes widened. Sleepwalking was the only reason he could possibly think of for the occurrence. Even that would have been scary enough. "What's the truth then?" Ash bit his lip, struggling to pull pajama bottoms up onto Brock's still damp legs. Ash was considering toweling his friend off first—but decided not to leave Brock long enough to go get a towel.

            "I was talking to May," he sighed, "and I don't remember anything after that. I remember talking to her about training, so we could be Espiritus, Ash, and then I suddenly don't remember. Please, don't let her tell Gary and Misty that—let them think I was asleep—please."

            "I'll tell her," Ash nodded decisively, moving on to removing Brock's shirt. Brock winced as he had to lift his sore arms, but Ash found him to be very compliant as he was changed. 

            Ash got up to open the door and have May help him carry Brock to bed. 

            Ash knew there was some sort of illness where people could have sudden sleeping spells, and that's what Brock had to have. He didn't know how he was going to tell Brock that May already informed them that he just ran like hell out of the room all of the sudden, and that's why they'd been searching for him—but he had no idea that they were talking about something beforehand. 

            May and Ash carried Brock to his bed in silence, Ash avoiding her eyes as best he could. 

            "Ash," Brock pleaded, not wanting his friend to leave him, "what if I'm losing my mind? What will happen to me?"

            "You're not losing your mind," Ash patted Brock's hand. "It's probably because of stress. May—we should tell everyone that he fell asleep before this happened, not that you guys were talking."

            "But they're in the living room," May blinked, "I already told them we were just talking, and—"

            "You can't tell them he fell asleep while you guys were talking and then did it?" Ash pleaded with his eyes, the first time he looked into hers in quite a while. "I heard before that that happens to people sometimes—"

            "I don't think people can get narcolepsy all of the sudden," May bit her lip, "and it'll seem strange that I add that to my story now—"

            "Please?" Brock interjected.

            "I'll try," May sighed. "Don't blame me if they don't swallow it."

            "Thanks," Ash whispered.

            Ash and May left the room, set to give the new explanation. After opening the door, they found Misty right behind it.

            "I want to talk to Brock," she coughed, looking at the floor and fidgeting with her jacket. "I need to talk to him."

            "Misty," Ash began, "he really didn't try to—"

"It doesn't matter," Misty interrupted, "I just need to talk to him."

            Ash was about to try and press his story onto her once again, but paused, just nodding and letting her pass by.

            "My," May patted him on the back as they went into the living room, "how mature you've become since the last time I saw you."

            "It was two days," Ash muttered.

            Misty wondered if Brock was sleeping when she saw him lying on the bed, under a blanket, with his eyes closed. Her steps toward the bed hardly made a sound, and she took relatively few breaths as she edged closer to the bed.

            "Misty," Brock opened his eyes slightly, "did they tell you? I was asleep—I didn't really mean to—"

            Misty stopped his hurried words by leaning over and pressing her lips to his, gathering his hands in her own as she did so. 

            "Forgive me," she lowered her eyes, placing her head on his chest. 

            "You're not mad?" Brock blinked, putting a hand on Misty's head and running his fingers through her hair. "You're really not mad?"

            Misty slowly lifted her head and looked up at him, grabbing his hand in her own. "No, I'm not mad. Not mad at all."

            "I'm so glad," Brock swallowed hard, then closed his eyes. 

            Scared, Misty thought, a little bit of that is what I am.

            "Jimmy!" Meowth ran stiff-legged and jumped into his friend's arms, "it's true! Dey said it to me today, she really did talk to her brodah!"

            "Um," James winced as he stroked the old pokemon's head, "from what I heard, what she said wasn't exactly a great example of sibling love."

            "I don't care what she said," Meowth purred as he giddily spoke, "da fact dat she said some-ting at all is good enough."

            "Great way to look at the bright side of things," James grinned as he patted Meowth's head. "Where is she now?"

            "Off poutin' in her room," Meowth shrugged as best his old bones could, "she was yellin' at me and everyting, it was great."

            "Why is that great?" James was confused, "she's always nice to you."

            "Dats what was so great about it," Meowth wanted to scratch James' face for being such a dim bulb, but he was too lazy. "She yelled at Brock, den she yelled at me. She's getin' more lively every day!"

            "Sometimes I don't see why you even care," Jesse grumbled from the corner, "she's just psychotic, you should move on with your life."

            "Jesse," Meowth looked up at her with a frown, "I'm da only person she has now, it would be cruel ta just forget about her."

            "That's her fault!" Jesse shouted, turning away from her computer and her work entirely. "We wanted to be there for her! But she just refused to let anyone else in!"

            "Well you'd probably be a little psychotic yourself if ya had happen to you what had happened ta her," Meowth retorted, crossing his arms across his chest. 

            James smiled at the entirely human gesture, as Meowth had taken to walking on all fours since becoming arthritic, and it reminded him of how Meowth used to be. 

            "I've lost people I love too," Jesse crossed her arms back at him, "and it didn't make me antisocial!"

            "Or maybe it did," Meowth muttered inaudibly.

            "Come on now Meowth," James whispered to him, "she's just upset that after all we did for Katie, she didn't love us back."

            "I undastand," Meowth sighed. "But she didn't hafta ruin my good mood."

            "Well remember what put you in it in the first place," James scratched Meowth behind the ears. 

            "Yeah," Meowth closed his eyes and purred some more, "you're right."

            "Huh?" James turned around suddenly as he heard a knocking sound. "Who's that rapping at my chamber door?"

            "Funny Jim," Meowth jumped from his lap, allowing James to get up to answer it.

            "Hey Tracey," James shook the head Espiritu's hand as he opened the door, "what brings you to our humble room?"

            "I," Tracey looked at the floor nervously, "I need advice, and I thought you guys would be best to ask."

            "What's wrong?" Jesse furrowed her eyebrows as she stood and left her computer. "Did something happen?"

            "Yeah," Tracey gritted his teeth together as he thought about it, "I knew our security measures weren't good enough. But I guess it's too late now."

            "Well," James prodded him with a hand on the shoulder, "what is it?"

            Tracey gulped and stepped backwards from the door, looking towards the left as he replied. "Come with me, I'll show you."

            James carried the slow-moving Meowth as they made their way to the weapons storage area below the gym. 

            "That smell," Jesse blanched as the world surrounding them grew darker, "I can't take it, it's so bad."

            "I found this when Zack and Sydney didn't show up for breakfast this morning," Tracey's eyes fell, the folds of skin around them narrowing as if he'd aged years within a few months, "and I don't want to tell anyone else."

            Tracey closed his eyes sharply as he turned on the light, unable to look forward, but he could still hear James drop to his knees and Jesse stomp closer to the victims.

            "You have to tell people," Jesse whirled back around, and Tracey finally opened his eyes to look at her. "They have to be taken out of here and buried."

            "That's not all," Tracey ignored her comment, pointing to the unhinged door to the weapons room, "look, the weapons inside, they're dismantled and mangled, currently unusable."

            "Well," Jesse stomped a foot, "we've got to go tell everyone! We've been attacked by the Mistakes! Why keep it a secret?"

            "Because," Tracey looked to the floor again, "because they'll blame Brock."

            "What?" James stood back up shakily, "why in God's name would they do that?"

            "He was missing last night," Tracey pursed his lips, "for several hours. He was found passed out in front of the gym. It was assumed he'd jumped off the roof."

            "Then he must have done it!" Jesse shouted, "and we need to stop him!"

            "That's exactly why I didn't want to tell anyone!" Tracey shouted through clenched teeth, "look at this mess! A human couldn't have done it! Look at Zack! Look  at Sydney! Ripped to shreds, and no one heard them scream!"

            "I've seen that kid do some pretty inhuman things," James admitted quietly.

            "But James!" Meowth interjected, "I hoid Katie talk about Brock all da time, dey loved him, he was a very gentle person, I don't tink—"

            "But he's not the same person," Jesse added.

            "I hate my position here," Tracey grumbled. "I know I'm not cut out for this job—but I really don't think Brock did this. I don't even know him very well, but do you realize the problems this could cause? I don't want to accuse anyone until we know for sure—Gary would go ballistic defending him, there would be problems with May and her brother."

            "And problems with Katie," Meowth grumbled, "I know she's actin' mad at Brock, but I also know dat she'll come around. She's happy he's here. Just overwhelmed."

            "But we can't let this happen more!" Jesse argued. "What if it is Brock? Then what?"

            "What if it isn't?" James argued right back. "He's right. We shouldn't upset everyone without proof. But I have just one question—why don't you think Misty would be the one to go insane defending him?"

            "Misty's been an Espiritu for too long," Tracey replied, "she's in love, yes, but not blindly. Unlike Gary."

            Jesse and Meowth's eyes both widened, and James walked over to Tracey, putting a hand on his shoulder.

            "We'll take care of them, for now," he looked away, "we really can't accuse anyone without proof."

            "But James—" Jesse became indignant.

            "I probably am wrong about this, Jesse," James admitted, "but I don't think the twerp did it. He might have been a part of it, a pawn to make the mistakes try and rip our group to shreds, but I really don't think he did this."

            "And it would rip us to shreds," Jesse agreed. 

            "Don't you think it's sweet," a hand rested on Ash's shoulder, and an unfamiliar voice spoke into the frosty night air, "how Gary and May reconciled, like that? Just like that? They're talking now, on the sofa. It's sweet."

            Ash patted the hand that was on his shoulder, feeling as if he were dealing with a delicate bird, one that would fly away if he did the slightest thing wrong. He thought that by coming outside into the miserable weather and sitting on the porch he could certainly be alone, but he was found. He prayed that Misty was taking good care of Pikachu during his incredibly lacking alone time.

            "I guess you could call it sweet," he shrugged, "but I just think that's what you should do when you're reunited with someone you haven't seen in a long time. If my mom was here, I'd be with her too."

            "Now we're both orphans," the girl said coldly, sitting down next to Ash as she did so.

            "Thanks for reminding me," Ash growled.

            "You know," the girl wrapped one arm around Ash's shoulders, and the other around his waist. "I've never—been—with anyone."

            Her hands began to travel, and Ash shoved her away gently.

            "Me neither," he muttered, "and I want to keep it that way."

            "You don't think I should be mad at all, do you," the girl edged away from Ash. "It's not your fault. It's not his fault. It's not her fault. That's what everyone keeps telling me. That I can't be reasoned with."

            "It's not his fault," Ash sighed. "They're right. Don't you love him at all?"

            "I don't think I love anyone anymore," the girl stood and twirled in a circle. "Nope, don't think I do."

            "You don't even love Meowth," Ash blinked in surprise, "after taking care of you all this time?"

            "Oh," Katie laughed, a little too loudly, "Meowth! That's different! Yes, I love Meowth. But I need to stop. Because he's going to die someday too. And then I'll be alone."

            "But you wouldn't be," Ash tried to reason, but was tiring of it quickly, "there are lots of people who would be with you, if you'd let them."

            Katie sat back down, resting her head on Ash's shoulder.

            "Would you?" she ran her hand down his shoulder, "you wouldn't be with me, would you?"

            Ash immediately strung a lie saying that he would, because even though she was incredible looking, with a deep tan and long red hair—she was psychotic. And insensitive. 

            "Don't do this, Katie," Ash sighed, "you should go and talk to Brock."

            "Why would he want to talk to me after the way I acted," she frowned, throwing some rocks onto the ground in front of her.

            Ash smiled suddenly, feeling that she might not be so insane after all.

            "Of course he wants you to talk to him!" Ash contradicted her quickly, "he forgives you already! Seriously! He'd love it if you talked to him!"

            "Should I?" she wondered, stopping all movement for a moment as she considered.

            "Yes!" Ash replied to her rhetoric, "yes, you should!"

            "No," she turned away, then stood and walked back to the door, "if I do, I might start loving him all over again, and then he'd leave me."

            "Wait!" Ash turned around to follow her as she walked into the building, "even if you do lose him, isn't it better to be happy now?"

            "No," Katie replied bitterly. "I don't think it is."

            And with that she slammed the door in Ash's face.


	3. Wilted and Desecrated

**Author's Notes: **I am a nudist

_            "Not again," Misty whispered, leaning over Brock gently, brushing away hair with her thin, pale fingers. "He's going to die of pneumonia if this keeps up."_

_            Gary poked the mud which cradled his friend with two fingers, biting his lip all the while. He shook it off quickly, letting the rain do the rest to cleanse it from his fingers. _

_            "Let's just get him out of here," Gary sighed and shook his head, "I don't know what will happen if he starts going farther."_

_            "We've got to watch him Gary," Misty shouted against the wind, though it seemed demure aside from the required elevation of voice. _

            "Y-yeah," Gary coughed, realizing that it was one of the first things he and Misty were able to agree upon.

_            Ash looked in silence, wondering how Brock was connected to the dreams he kept having. . ._

Blood Destiny Wilted and Desecrated 

            "At least the weather isn't so bad today," Misty broke the silence as she and Brock held hands, walking slowly along the bank of a murky pond formed by the recent rains. "It hasn't been this nice in a while."

            Brock lifted his head to look around him, scoffing at his surroundings. The world seemed to be in black and white—even Misty's vibrant red hair seemed lackluster lately. He gripped her hand even more tightly.

            "It doesn't matter what the weather is like," Brock forced a smile at his love, "as long as I'm with you, it always feels warm and sunny."

            Misty shook her head and chortled, finding some comfort in Brock's lie. Nothing could feel sunny when there was a constant fog over the world. 

            "Sit with me, Misty," Brock pulled Misty's hand downward as he sat in the grass along the edge of the pond. "We haven't just sat together in a long while."

            Misty complied, not worrying about the dust which clung to her clothes which hadn't seemed to fit quite right in months. . . 

            Brock's hand seemed clammy and made her's itch. She wanted to let go, but couldn't do so without alarming him. He edged closer to her, his breath causing the skin of her neck to tingle. She craned her neck closer to his lips, quickly reminded of how her desire for him had not faded. 

            Brock pulled Misty's back into his chest and wrapped his arms around her waist, letting his lips and breath along with them trail along her collarbone to her shoulder, pulling back at the sleeve which covered it a little as he rested his head there.

            "I like just being with you, Misty," Brock whispered. 

            Misty leaned into him as well, letting her stomach churn for a moment as she stared forward into the grass, letting the ground blur in front of her until the gray strands morphed into an ocean of translucent, broken glass, blood dripping from their sharp tips—

            "Brock," Misty gulped, then turned around, no longer sitting and leaning backwards into his chest, but on her knees and grasping his shoulder-blades, letting her jaw quiver as her heart snapped like the jaws of a wolf in a trap for its life, letting sweat trickle down her temples as she stared at the man in front of her.

            Brock seemed taken by surprise, his dark-black dyed hair stood up on its elated ends even more than usual, and Misty couldn't even see the lighter horizon compared to the velvet darkness of Brock's hair and skin. Her stomach felt like it was twisting upon itself, as she could have sworn that the eyes which resided behind the violent scars which lightly etched his face were the same gentle ones she knew before—

            "Misty?" Brock asked, unnerved by her staring. He cupped her face with his hands, nerves shaking within his spine as his suspicions flittered to the surface of his mind. Misty had been acting distant—as if Brock had committed crimes for which he could not repent—

            "Brock," Misty replied with a rigid gulp, put her shaking arms around him and pressed her lips firmly to his. It felt strange to openly accept the delicate brushing of skin she once enjoyed and now feared—but it was so easy to eagerly drink the affection which was always available when not rejected. Her skin felt heated against his, and he was easily pushed down into the ocean of grassy shards—and hands easily searched longingly for the comforts of skin desired throughout the storm which ravaged their peace of mind.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Tracey shook even harder as he looked out the window, barely able to hold on to the sheets which shook within his incredulous hands, his eyes burned by both the fire of Misty's ginger hair, and by the pain of the scarlet blood stains which still dripped black from the wholly saturated linens—letting it defile his hands and spirit as he did so, letting the sanguine fluid merge with that of his brackish tears.

            He had a decision to make—there was still doubt as to the name of the slaughterer, but only to an optimist. 

            "Tracey," a stern voice crept up behind his pained ears. "You can't protect him this time. It could be one of us next time."

            Tracey's dry mouth couldn't physically utter a reply, and thus he remained stationary, letting the blood loll over his shoes, not caring what became of him at that moment.

            "I see them too," James whispered, putting a hand on Tracey's shoulder. "And it'll break her heart. But I don't see—"

            "But I see," Tracey gulped. "His friends will want proof—more than we have—and the others won't want him to live."

            "It's not like they'll have a choice," James cringed, "Ash and Brock are too strong for any of you to take anyway."

            "I should talk to Ash," Tracey whispered, still unable to work his mouth properly due to its bitter desiccation. "Maybe he'll see reason."

            James looked to the floor. "You can't take care of everyone all the time. And now—I don't think anyone would expect you to."

            The sheets in Tracey's hands began shaking gently, and James grabbed them from him, not caring if they became blood stained as well.

            "They won't hate you Tracey," James put the sheets aside and grabbed Tracey's stained hands, "it's not your fault."

            Tracey walked away from James comforts slowly, "I hope you're right."

            "I could always tell for you," James nodded. "You don't have to do it alone."

            "I don't want to drag you into my problems," Tracey shook as he entered the hall, "I don't want anyone to be dragged into them."

            Tracey ran almost aimlessly to the bathroom to try and rinse the blood from his hands. As cold water seemed to glide over the red, leaving it as it were, Tracey shuddered with an image of its origin—the girl lying on the bed, slashed through every artery she had—blood drenching the bed so profusely that when turned over nothing but clear liquid drained from the wounds as she had no blood left to leak. 

            His thoughts then traveled to Brock, how one night he had gently lifted Misty from where she had fallen asleep on the sofa, carrying her as if walking upon a cloud, lying her so carefully that she didn't wake—kissing her forehead so gently—

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

             "What're we gonna do when everything is back to normal?" Misty asked, lying her head on Brock's chest after pulling her lips from his one last time. 

            "There's a question," Brock contemplated as he smelled and ran his fingers through Misty's hair. "How old are you now?"

            "Brock!" Misty slapped him jokingly, "I'm sixteen!"

            "Oh," Brock chuckled, "right. Too young to live together, I guess."

            "You really need to see a doctor," Misty whispered, "with these passing out spells all the time—"

            Brock's movements stopped suddenly, and he stared at the gray-crusted sky for a moment, not even musing on Misty's comment, just staring. "Doctor," he mouthed, "yes, I think that would be good."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            "It makes sense," Ash looked at his feet, turning away from the window where Misty and Brock were easily seen having a rare moment to themselves. "But I—"

            "Of course it makes sense to you!" Gary shouted, "you've known him for years and don't know a fucking thing about him! He didn't do it—I don't care how much evidence there is!"

            "Like I was saying," Ash nearly smirked at Gary's outburst, "I don't think Brock did it. And it's not because it's not somethin' he would do, it's because I've been having dreams—I knew something like this was gonna happen, I didn't know it already was."

            "What happened in your dreams?" Tracey suddenly gained interest.

            "I," Ash began to speak, but then felt as if he were drenched in a fog, "I don't know—they just leave me with a feeling."

            "I don't think that's enough just to let your friend go," one of the other Espiritus, the lover of the one killed, chirped while trying to keep his voice from cracking.

            "He wouldn't have—" Gary began to yell at the dejected man, but Ash put his hand on Gary's shoulder, silencing him, oddly enough.

            "I think we should just ask Brock," Tracey coughed, using Ash's motion as a cue. "He—he wouldn't want to hurt people. If it is him, it's probably not on his own volition—and if it isn't we'll find out while he's confined—"

            "Confined?" Gary's eyes widened. "You're shittin' me!"

            "Gary," Tracey looked to the floor, "people's lives are at stake here—"

            "I don't think we should do that then sit around and see if someone dies," the aforementioned Espiritu became indignant, "we have to protect everyone! This CANNOT happen again!"

            "I feel for you," Tracey's voice cracked, "but what can we do? It was security people who were killed before, and—"

            The room fell silent as a door slammed in the front room. 

            "Isn't anyone here?" Misty whispered.

            Brock looked around the room, as if his eyes would hear something that his ears had missed. Emptiness devoured their ears besides the soft and nerve-wracked sound of each other's breathing, and their footsteps grew softer as they neared the hallway.

            "It's not such a bad thing that no one is," Misty swallowed gently, her face still flushed from both the immersion of hot air which occurred after opening the door and the heated blood which Brock's solid hands gently caressing her skin had induced. 

            Their footsteps felt soggy as they made their way down the hall. Brock's lips and hands tingled, and he almost felt nauseated as his nerves twitched their way from his throat to his stomach. He was unsure as to why his nerves would decide to revolt on him at that moment in particular, but he felt even more lost as Misty's lithe frame dug into his own, reaching for various reassurances.

            The lingering worry of what had become of everyone stayed itself in the rear of Brock's mind as he stopped in front of the door, gathering Misty's hands into his own and drawing them gently to his lips, kissing them shakily, reenergizing the tingling sensation they had felt outside on the gray grass.

            Misty drew herself closer to him, imploring him to meet her lips with his own. Brock's eyes shut slowly, and he was about to lean in for a kiss when a gentle, purposeful cough from behind startled him.

            Brock turned around after having his flesh jostled away from muscle, and Misty was very noticeably flustered as well. The large group which seemed to have appeared so suddenly immediately set off alarms in their heads.

            "Haha," Brock laughed tartly and nervously, "I was wondering where you all went off to."

            Tracey and Ash merely looked to the ground, whereas Gary stared openly at his oblivious friend. 

            "Brock," Tracey coughed, as always feeling resentful toward his occupation as the harbinger of difficult news. "I—Ash and I want to talk to you—alone."

            Gary's eyes fled towards theirs, becoming at once shocked and hardened. He chose the moment directly afterward to run into his room, slamming the door with all the tensed strength contained in his sylphlike frame.

            Brock's mouth dried up in an instant; the moisture thereof obviously relocating to his temples where sweat began to bead and fatten to trickle down his hairline. 

            "Okay," he quietly agreed, "Misty, I think you'd better—"

            "Like _fuck_ I'm gonna keep out of this!" Gary shouted, running back into the group, having reconsidered his previous decision.

            "If it's so important I'm not keeping out of it either!" Misty crossed her arms, her bile warming as Gary's presence trickled rage into her stream of emotion.

            "This is what we didn't want to happen," Tracey grumbled.

            "They'll be at it for an hour," Ash frowned, knowing that they couldn't possibly have hoped to keep them out of it.

            "She's right," Gary pointed towards Misty, quite unexpectedly, "neither of us should be left out of this."

            "No guys," Brock stepped away from Gary and Misty, "it's okay if they want to talk to me alone. I'll tell you about it—later." Brock garbled the last word as if he'd already felt there wouldn't be a later.

            "But Brock—" Gary started, extending his hand and grabbing Brock by the shoulder.

            Brock removed Gary's hand gently, shaking his head. "I'm a big boy, Gary. I can take care of myself."

            Gary at first seemed indignant as he reiterated this statement in his mind, but as he looked over to Misty who was quietly shaking as she watched Brock walk away with Ash and Tracey, he diverted his attentions.

            "I don't know why you had to open your big mouth," he snapped at her. "_You_ don't even know what's going on!"

            Misty didn't snap back, however. Gary was about to make another statement in anger, but paused as Misty turned towards him, her eyes welling with tears.

            "Misty," Gary blinked, "crying? You don't even know what's wrong. I hardly believe you even care. You'd probably pull the switch on the electric chair yourself if Brock "

            And for this statement, Misty drew her hand back and thrust its knuckles into Gary's jaw, clattering his teeth and causing him to fall to the ground.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Brock wished at that moment that they hadn't converted the gym into a bit of a house over the years because the bedroom he was taken in still had the atmosphere of a gym—the floor was still hard and scratched from battle, and the karma of the butterflies which escaped the stomachs of trainers looking for a badge still hung thick on the air like wispy smoke from a candle blown out and fluttering around the room like a mindless spirit.

            Brock looked to the floor, taking a seat on the edge of the bed so he could kick at a certain scratch while Ash and Tracey composed their thoughts in order .

            "We've been trying to keep it from the others," Tracey began, quietly, "to keep everyone from panicking, but three people have been mysteriously murdered in the past few days."

            Brock suddenly bolted upright, his muscles becoming rigid and his breathing ceasing. "And I?"

            "No, Brock," Ash walked over and put his hands on his shoulders. "I _know_ it wasn't you."

            "Ash," Tracey closed his eyes, "we can't go by a dream. We know it wasn't on _purpose_, but you have had those weird spells where you can't remember what you did, and the times have been, well, suspicious—"

            "Oh," Brock stood up, brushing Ash's arms aside, "God, no—"

            _The water was cool and splashed up aggressively against Brock's torso, and he nearly fell over as his vision came back into focus._

_            "Where?" he asked himself, not bothering to fill in the rest of the question._

_            It was the first time he'd blacked out and not ended up unconscious somewhere only to be found by one of his friends._

_            "What have I been doing?" he whispered, as he fought the cold which wracked his body to wade through the lake back to shore._

_            "If I passed out I'd be dead," he grumbled, dipping his hands into his water to remove a subconscious filth before crawling out of it onto shore. "What's happening to me?"_

_            Colors seemed to flash in Brock's mind, as if he were about to pass out, but he fought it, dragging himself to his bed inside the gym, where he could retain consciousness no longer._

"Three people," he shuddered, shrugging off the memory which had arrested him to its haunting reminder of how he'd been so naïve.

            He fell to his knees, his face in his palms. "That must be why I've been blacking out—I haven't been an assassin for so long—it—"

            "No!" Ash dropped to his knees as well to wrap his arms around Brock. "I told you it wasn't you—even not on purpose! Trust me!"

            "But if it was," Tracey found it hard to oppose Ash. He was upset that Ash wasn't helping with the solution they'd agreed to. "I think it would be best if we didn't let it happen again."

            "Yes!" Brock agreed, but found himself gripping Ash harder for comfort, "I give you permission—kill me, I deserve it!"

            "No," Ash stroked Brock's hair, "we can think of another way."

            "Confinement," Tracey sighed. "Just for a while. Until we figure out where the real problem is. Look—it's for your own safety. The other Espiritus aren't handling this so well."

            "You really mean for their own safety," Brock sniffed, "but it's ok. I'd let them do whatever they wanted."

            "No," Tracey shook his head, "I did mean for _your_ own safety. We have a room for you—one you won't be able to get out of. But it's comfortable enough—and someone will bring you food and water. I swear it's only temporary."

            "What'll Misty and Gary think of me," Brock muttered to himself.

            "Gary knows," Ash winced, "and he thinks we're being crazy and you really didn't do anything. I don't know about Misty."

            "Sketchit," a tall, androgynous Espiritu walked in, quite out of breath. "We were unable to locate Senior Officer Oak—we're sorry that—"

            Tracey closed his eyes tightly, clenching his fists at the news.

            "My sister?" Gary blinked. "I thought she was sent into town to try and stop Mistake worshipping?"

            "She was supposed to be back four hours ago," Tracey whispered. "It was an overnight mission, not two day."

            Gary smirked. "Oh, you should know May by now, she takes her damn sweet time no matter what she does." The smirk that began to show the wobbly concern behind it as the statement lingered in his mind.

            "The lake," Brock mouthed, soundlessly, not even consciously realizing that he had done so.

            "I know what I have to do," he announced through clenched teeth, standing up and helping Ash up as he did so.

            "Brock?" Ash blinked.

            "I won't be back," Brock whispered, then took off running down the hall.

            "Wait!" Misty shouted, but even she couldn't catch up once Brock was out the door.

~`~`~`~`~`

            "There's definitely something down here!" Espiritu Derith announced, removing his breathing gear from his mouth.

            "Can you bring it up?" Espiritu Claridene shouted back to Derith, her words battling a strong wind which had kicked up to kick away water from the lake and onto the disgruntled shore.

            "Yeah, Gerald and Terra are doing that now," he shouted back, though his words hit Claridene's ears a little too sporadically.

            The diving clothes didn't keep much of the cold out, but such minor things were plunged to the farthest niche of the diver's minds as they manually pulled up a fragile and rapidly degenerating object from the bottom of the lake. 

            "Whatever it is," Claridene laughed to herself nervously, trying to convince herself that the situation could in no way become serious, "it's going to be annoying to haul all the way back to Pewter if it takes that long to drag up."

            However, 'annoying' wasn't quite the word to describe what horrors would be racing through their minds as they delicately carried a carcass back into the town to be buried among countless others which had fallen since the reign of the Mistakes. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            The skies were a little lighter as the sun battled the artificial clouds which plated the sky like a grape frosting, and the tops of nearby foothills flaunted a baked apple color that the cloud-filtered sunlight accentuated. Wind was the only thing to hear for miles—wind which whistled and wind which pulled clouds from their roots and which whisked away thoughts from nervous or tainted minds.

            The stranger's footsteps were delicate as each foot avoided leaving its foreign residue upon the bleached shell that the city of Lavender. A group of hardened teenagers dared set in the street to enjoy each other's company, but a quality of defiance stank within their words and postures as they did so. They all fell silent as the stranger walked up to them, hands on hips.

            "Aren't you worried that the mistakes will get you, just sitting out here like this?" was the wisdom which the stranger bestowed upon them.

            "We'll fucking kill a mistake that fucks with us," the biggest one proclaimed defiantly, "we're sick of their shit."

            "I'd help you," the stranger's mouth contorted into a ghostly grin which even frightened one who would stand up to a mistake a little, "but sadly, I have other business to attend to."

            The stranger walked off with footsteps slow and methodical, not worrying about making a scene in the slightest—worrying even less than the group of suicidal teenagers.

            "I dunno what that moron is thinking," a girl in the group shook her head. "At least we have smuggled weapons."

            "Hey, uh, you! Stranger!" one of the kids called out. "Don't go that way! No humans are allowed in that cave! Even we're not dumb enough to go in there!"

            But the stranger chose not to hear, and the footsteps continued—unhurried—but with all the destination in the world contained within each crack upon the weathered stones of the street. 


End file.
